


Princeslayer

by WaterSeraphim



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Angst and Feels, Character Death, Established Relationship, M/M, Sad Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:15:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27214027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaterSeraphim/pseuds/WaterSeraphim
Summary: There was only ever one way for things to end between them.
Relationships: Jarvan Lightshield IV/Sylas (League of Legends)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	Princeslayer

**Author's Note:**

> Honored to have the pleasure of being the first person to write a Sylvan fic and because it’s me I made it the most depressing shit ever, you’re welcome. 
> 
> Dedicated to Skai who likes to read painful angst.

Fifteen years he’d sat wasting away in his cell, biding his time and fantasizing about what he’d do once he found the king. Royal blood staining his fingertips, the sweet relief of burning vengeance being sated. Yet he felt nothing but dread taking anchor in his chest, for the king had died long ago, and what was left was a prince driven by impulse and fear. 

His pounding heartbeat could not drown out the cries of the people rallied by his action. The hated, the downtrodden, the forgotten all lifted by his words of revolution. Smog filled the air, magical fires had taken hold of the district. Demacia was burning.

Sylas breathed in deeply, dreading what would soon be asked of him. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes. Of course this had always been the end goal, a necessary step in the name of freedom. Those who refused to grow were left behind. Just one word, one law, or some sort of decree and he could have changed everything for Sylas, for every mage in the kingdom. He chose not to, and that inaction would be his downfall. His stubborn hatred and hypocrisy made him ignorant to the very injustice he created. 

Even after everything… 

The steps of the palace were bright and shimmering, not unlike the light Luxanna had possessed before it had been snuffed out. Another victim Demacia had left behind. 

The path was not a difficult one, nor long, but it took everything from Sylas to reach the throne room with a million voices behind him. Crying for the prince’s head, for him to grovel and beg for mercy. Every guard that made to stop them was dealt with quickly. There were more mages than the lot of them, all it took was a spark of hope to remind them of that. 

When Sylas found him, he was alone. The prince stood before his throne in his ceremonial armor, spear by his side.

“Jarvan,” he greeted, his voice tight. It held none of the fervor his people had come to expect from such a moment that they idled about behind Sylas in confusion. 

“So it has come to this…” Jarvan’s expression was clearly troubled, but there was an edge of resignation to it. Defeat. He had accepted this outcome long ago, anticipated it even earlier than that. 

“Where are your soldiers? Have they finally abandoned their master?”

Jarvan lowered his head. “I ordered them to flee, I would not selfishly ask them to die with me.”

“So the rest of the Crownguards still live, what a shame.” They would have to be dealt with too, eventually. Sylas came to stand before the prince, longing to reach out for him and comfort his woes. But the time for that had gone and passed. “You left me no choice.”

“What would you have asked of me? Our kingdom was built upon these principles, to change them so hastily would cause a public outcry. The people wouldn’t feel safe anymore, I couldn’t-“

“You claimed to love me but kept me in a cage. You promised me freedom and allowed me to be sentenced to death. You wish to seek to unify Demacia but hunt mages like dogs in the street! Spare me your excuses, princeling,” Sylas shouted. In his anger he had surged forward until Jarvan had nowhere else to look but him. There was pain in those blue eyes, and Sylas hated how it made him feel, how seeing Jarvan upset still affected him after everything.

“I failed my kingdom, I failed you. I see that now.” Jarvan hesitantly raised his hand to Sylas’ jaw, but not quite touching. “I want you to know that I tried. The council would not listen to me, they saw me as unfit to rule because of it. Threatened to strip my crown, and then my father…” 

“It’s far too late to make amends for what you’ve done,” Sylas murmured solemnly. He leaned his head into Jarvan’s palm despite himself, still craving the nostalgia of what once was. The secrets shared between them in that cell felt like a lifetime ago.

“My grief blinded me, I blamed you, I blamed mages for taking everything from me.”

“That pain is only a glimpse of how it feels to live as one of us in your kingdom,” Sylas spat the last word out with distaste. “Only at your lowest moments can you begin to understand your privilege. You haven’t been taught to hate yourself, to live every waking moment in fear. Fighting to survive in a world that labels you a monster for simply being born a mage!”

“You’re right,” Jarvan caressed his cheek with the tip of his thumb, drawing soothing circles against the coarse stubble. “I’m sorry, Sylas. I never meant for it to come to this.

“You know how this ends.”

“I do.”

Sylas closed his eyes to keep the tears from spilling over. “I don’t want to kill you.”

“I know,” Jarvan sighed. He pressed his forehead against Sylas’ own, their noses bumping awkwardly like they used to when they were foolish and in love despite it all.

Sylas opened his eyes again, Jarvan was there smiling weakly back at him. It did nothing to soothe his sadness. “Jarvan…”

“You must,” Jarvan said softly. “It’ll all be over, soon. You can’t turn back now.”

“You could run, find a new life far away from here. You could surrender. You don’t have to do this,” Sylas pleaded.

“Your rebellion wouldn’t accept that, even if I wished for it. A Demacian does not surrender, it’s not our way.”

“So tradition comes to haunt me even now,” Sylas laughed dryly. 

Jarvan removed the crown from his head, now an empty symbol of his power. He took Sylas’ hand in his own, and placed the golden thing in his palm. “My only wish, please, remember me. Remember the time we shared together, the walks in the palace gardens, the nights in the library, when we danced under the stars, remember how I loved you, please?”

“I promise.” Sylas nodded, crying openly now. It felt right to do so, so he kissed him then. The last one they would share together. Their first one has been fueled by the heat of frustration and passion, a mistake, they had called it. And yet they found themselves endlessly drawn to one another, despite their differences. Weeks he had spent in his cell lost in his mind wishing for nothing more than to have the prince with him. For the circumstances to be different. 

Jarvan had changed, but it hadn’t been enough. 

Sylas did not have a sword, he had fought his way to the chamber with magic but killing Jarvan that way was a cruel irony he didn’t have the heart for. Sensing his confliction the prince wordlessly handed him his own spear, with its ugly sharp edges that have slain countless men before. It’s weight was impossibly heavy in Sylas’ hands, his arms carrying an invisible burden as he lifted it in the air. He took aim for the prince’s heart.

“For Demacia,” Sylas called out. Cheers arose from behind him, their voices once again hungry for the prince’s blood. They had fallen silent during the intimate exchange. Sylas could not blame them, he found it increasingly difficult to speak as the moment dragged on.

He didn’t know if he intended to inspire the rebellion, or remind himself of what he fought for. Perhaps it was both. Jarvan did not close his blue eyes or turn his gaze away from him as the spear plunged into his chest. His face still held that gentle affection, the weak smile. His shoulders slumped forward, his whole body collapsing around him, hanging onto Sylas to remain standing. Blood dripped from his mouth as he wordlessly said, I love you. 

Sylas twisted the spear, and took the last of the light inside Jarvan with him.


End file.
